


Day 1: Homecoming

by Stormcalled (Raidho)



Series: FFXIV Advent Calendar 2019 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Xaela (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Hearer (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raidho/pseuds/Stormcalled
Summary: A warrior of light returns to a place that is no longer home, and finds home all the same.
Series: FFXIV Advent Calendar 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559680
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Day 1: Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for my dear friend Chala, expanding slightly on a short piece I wrote for them some time ago but this time reimagining their character Erdene as a reluctant warrior of light.

They step not lightly though toe stirs not dirt and heel bends not grass, aloft on airs weary limbed and heavy hearted. A thousand thousand miles have they walked, a thousand thousand left to roam, with a thousand thousand lives to take, to lose, to save. Once familiar lands full of love and life stretch horizon to horizon before them, and they recognize much and little. Who remains here who will call them family? What remains to make this home?

_ They return they return! _ A million million tiny voices cry, exultant. Wind stirs the long grass of the steppe.  _ Bloodspiller lifegiver windrider honored honoring one long-gone farwanderer horizonchild returns! Returns home!  _ It ripples like wind through the grass, tiny voices in the rustle of blades of grass.  _ Home! Home! Homehomehome _

They dismiss the winds that hold them aloft, toe stirs dirt and heel bends grass. Home is not a place, they feel in their heart but do not put words to in their mind. They drop to their knees and the grass tickles their bare arms. Home is not a person, or people, or a collection of memories, they feel as they lay down in the grass to be embraced. 

Home is only a feeling, and the steppe itself calls them home.


End file.
